


Moving On

by maximum_overboner



Series: The Exchange [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Absolute fluff, Big Brother Papyrus, Big Brother Sans, Brotherly Relationship, Comedic Elements, Crude Humor, Fluff, Gen, everyone adjusts to the surface, slight angst, wacky adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long, hard struggle, the brothers, along with the rest of Monster-Kind do their best to adjust to the surface. Misunderstanding ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving On

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, you gotta read the first fic in this series for this to make sense, both in plot and characterization! Hope you enjoy it, it takes place directly after its conclusion!

  It turns out that a race once thought extinct rising to the surface, figures from myths and stories and fairy-tales, was quite a big deal.

  The city loomed in front of them, and the press awaited, advancing slowly, every possible resource diverted to the news story of the century. The smaller group to the front, accompanying the king, would be the first to be accosted, a process that was not helped by Mettaton spying the cameras and breaking out into a sprint, his robotic legs propelling him towards his fame. Sans and Papyrus were left with Agore, Toriel, Undyne and Alphys, the rest of Monster-kind stood warily behind them, unsure of the attention.

  “is he runnin’ in heels?”

  “I THINK HE IS.”

  “goddamn.”

  “HE RUNS LIKE A GAZELLE.”

  “like he’s confused and about to be eaten?”

  “MAYBE? WAIT, NO! GRACEFULLY!”

  They watched with bated breath as Mettaton broke into a power-slide in front of the nearest photographer, skidding to a halt, grit tearing at the Lycra of his leggings, then framed his face with his hands. Even from their position twenty feet away, Papyrus knew his hair would be immaculate. The photographer blinked, closed his open mouth, then snapped a picture.

  “oh my god.”

  “DO YOU THINK I COULD DO THAT?”

  “i... i think you could try.”

  The wind whistled through their skulls, Frisk to their right, Asgore and Toriel to their left, who were uneasily quiet, eyes locked forward. Undyne was close-by, having lugged her ornamental armor from her home, out of the mountain, and once again to the campsite that became their home for a night. It was spiky, custom-made, with one slit in its visor to highlight her missing eye, to make a show of it. An act that said ‘even with an impairment, I am more than capable of killing you’. Papyrus felt it was excessive, as did Asgore and Toriel, but she had insisted, saying she would look ‘really hype’. And to her credit, she did. She also looked homicidal, even if that was not her intention, and Papyrus could hear Asgore grumble before looking forlornly at Toriel, who loured in return.

  “SANS,” Papyrus ‘whispered’, “THIS FEELS REALLY AWKWARD.”

  “i know, pap. they ain’t on the best terms, we’re stayin’ out of it.”

  “IT FEELS LIKE THEY’RE GOING TO START YELLING AT ANY MINUTE.”

  “nah, it feels like toriel is gonna start yellin’ at any minute. they’re gonna address mankind, they’re royalty.”

  “OOH. DRAMATIC.”

  Sans nodded, glancing at Frisk, who was stone still, resolute as the Monsters waited. They looked scuffed and scraped, as if they had fallen onto the concrete road underneath them all. They were sandwiched between the tarmac and the vast sky above them, now overcast, trapping them in a humidity that was not unpleasant after their time in the mountain, having become well accustomed to Hotland and its temperature. Sans then looked to the sky above them and breathed, forgetting the ache in his limbs to look at the clouds in a last moment of calm before the journalists swarmed them all. Like puffs of sand kicked up in the ocean, they splayed and drifted before tapering off into nothing. Beautiful. Astonishingly so. Papyrus looked up, huffing in agreement, his intentions the same. He preferred the daytime. The stars were exquisite, he would never dare to call that fact into question, but there was something nice about the simplicity of daylight. One star. Hanging there. Doing its job and doing it well. It was brighter than he had ever imagined, the false one he had conjured in the fields with Gaster all those months ago paling in its brightness, a torch compared to it.

  Papyrus was snapped out of it as the crowd swarmed him, microphones jutting like pikes towards his face. He recognized some questions, and some he did not, thick with accents he couldn’t even begin to place in his ignorance. He saw Sans get swallowed up in it, Frisk as well. Undyne had not, as the press had decided to maintain a respectful, terrified distance, and they moved in a perfect bubble around her. Asgore exuded all the kingly presence he could muster, the deaths of both his children and the Human’s freshly scarred in his mind, and began answering questions gently.

  “Your majesty, it it true the Monsters are here to wage war--”

  “Everyone thought the Monsters were a myth, how does it feel to be--”

  “How was the barrier broken--”

  A microphone bopped Papyrus on the face before it retreated, and the sharply dressed man that held it blustered a thick ‘sorry’, clearly terrified of the gigantic skeleton in front of him. Papyrus caught wind. He didn’t want to be scary. He was a cool skeleton that wanted to make cool friends, and so he smiled, showing off all of his pristine, sharp, teeth, a reassuring gesture that made the man shake more.

  “Q-Qu'est ce que vous en pensez--”

  Papyrus furrowed his brow. “SANS!” He yelled, his shrill voice cutting through the fat of the crowd like acid, “SANS, THIS MAN IS SPEAKING IN TONGUES!”

  He heard a low, faintly amused, response. “stay strong, papyrus.”

  With a thunderous clap, Asgore commanded the presence of everyone there, drawing dead silence that only the buzzing of the helicopters above penetrated.

  “I do believe it would be best,” he exclaimed, the gentleness of his speaking voice seeping through “if we spoke to your rulers. We do not mean any harm, and would like to live here.”

  A woman in a cranberry suit, holding a notepad and wondering if she had woken up in some sort of parallel universe, answered first. “... Do you mean the U.N?”

  “Then please,” Toriel responded, her voice rich with age, “inform your ‘yoo enn’ of us. Are they your king, or your queen?”

  The journalists were quiet, aghast. Frisk pushed through them to reach her. “Uh. That’s not how it works here...”

 

* * *

   
  Tents were set up once again as the long, slow process of documentation began, every trace of Monster lineage previously erased in either war or ignorance. Dozens upon dozens sat in rows as Monsters were called in, registered as citizens, then released to begin their new lives, full of hope and promise and novelty. Undyne and Alphys had already been processed as the list was alphabetical, and the lack of surname afforded them the luxury of speed. Papyrus and Sans had taken to milling around the grassland outside, waiting patiently. Papyrus was sitting on the ground, legs splayed in front of him, Sans in a barely-conscious pile to his left.

  “THE HUMANS ARE SCARED OF ME,” he bemoaned.

  “give it time,” Sans responded, voice heavy with fatigue, his body attempting to force him to catch up on the sleep he had missed out on.

  “WHAT IS IT ABOUT ME THAT’S SO SCARY? I’M FRIENDLY, AND NICE. JUST BECAUSE I HAPPEN TO BE A SEVEN FOOT TALL SKELETON DOESN’T MAKE ME ANY LESS APPROACHABLE.”

  There was a pause.

  “WAIT A MINUTE.”

  Sans sat up, fresh grass sticking to his jacket as an idea occurred to him. “hey pap, your arm is pretty obvious, right?”

  He held his broken arm aloft, as if Sans had forgotten about it somehow. “IT IS PRETTY HARD TO MISS, YES.”

  “and humans can’t tell how old we are, right?”

  Papyrus thought for a moment, recounting all the telltale signs; the whiteness of your bones, the flexibility of your sockets, the way magic would crackle and snap between the empty gaps in your joints. “I DOUBT IT. I THINK THEY MIGHT ASSUME WE’RE QUITE OLD. BUT I’M NOT OLD, I HAVE A FULL, CALCIUM-HEAVY LIFE IN FRONT OF ME. BESIDES, WHY WOULD IT MATTER?”

  Sans gripped his chin. “maybe they think it’s a war wound. same for me.”

  Papyrus went to rebuke him, before it fell flat on his palette. Oh. Oh, that had made sense. He looked to his splayed hand, then glanced to a nearby Human volunteer, someone that was similar underneath, with a structure that hadn’t been laid bare. “THEY’RE INTIMIDATED, AREN’T THEY?”

  “like i said,” Sans repeated, blearily rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. “give it time.”

  A woman emerged from a sand-colored tent nearby, a makeshift office, with dull rings under her eyes and a look that said she had been there for hours without a break.

  “Papyrus, Skeleton?”

  Papyrus leapt to his feet, giving Sans a pat on the shoulder. “I’LL MEET YOU OUTSIDE, WHEN YOU’RE DONE.”

  “rad. i’m gonna take a nap.”

  “YOU DO THAT.”

  Papyrus took a deep breath in, swished his scarf, then sashayed in after her. A skeleton. Sashaying. She didn’t look surprised anymore.

 

* * *

 

  The inside of the tent was warm, but sparse, with only three chairs and a compact metal desk, littered with paperwork to furnish it, the structure lit from the inside with a portable travel lamp, with a reclining medical bed in its corner, presumably for the more ‘out there’ Monsters. The woman, short, with dark hair and a sour demeanor, sat down behind her desk and began rooting through, pen hanging limply in her mouth. She pulled out a form, sighed, and began. Papyrus sat down in turn, on the opposite side, his knees tucked to compensate for his height.

  “Name?”

  He furrowed his brow, but kept his voice chipper in an attempt to be approachable. “YOU ALREADY SAID IT, IT’S PAPYRUS SKELETON!”

  “Your _real_ name?”

  “PAPYRUS SKELETON.”

  The volunteer quirked her eyebrow, he face remaining static. Papyrus felt as if she wouldn’t be as friendly as Frisk usually was.

  “I KNOW,” he agreed, the yearning in his chest, the need to be liked, seeping out. “THAT WAS MY REACTION AS WELL.”

  She clicked her back before settling into her slouch again, sighing in relief. “Age?”

  “TWENTY-ONE.”

  “Sub-species?”

  Papyrus stopped for a moment, tapping at his chin before the question sunk in. “SKELETON.”

  “Sex?”

  He squeaked out a scandalized gasp, the word snapping a response out of him before he could consider what she was really asking. “WE CAN’T! YOU’RE A HUMAN AND I’M A MONSTER! SOCIETY WON’T ALLOW IT! BUT I DO APPRECIATE YOU BEING SO FORWARD, TO GET THE AWKWARDNESS OF REJECTION OUT OF THE WAY--”

  She tapped a pen against the clipboard, amusement finally seeping through her fatigue. “No, no; male, female, other?”

  His coyness fell away, leaving a sinking shame in its place. Of course that’s what she meant. He buried his face in his hand before regaining his composure, coughing. “OH. OH, WHOOPS. THAT’S EMBARRASSING. UH, MALE.”

  She didn’t miss a beat, there were around three thousand Monsters left to process and if she didn’t hurry up then she would be working through the night. “Occupation?”

  “I WAS A SENTRY.”

  She looked to the categories, with little boxes that needed to be ticked, all deviations needing to be noted. She couldn’t be bothered, she could probably shoehorn him into a job category. Her eyes scanned the page. Ooh, perfect. “So, military then?”

  “SORT OF. NOT OFFICIALLY.”

  She ticked it anyway. “Is that how you lost your arm?” She asked, absentmindedly.

  Papyrus looked pensive, before he forced himself to cheer up for the sake of the stranger logging his details. He could be as sullen as he wanted when he was finished, but for now he wanted it to be over; no explanations, no waiting. “NO, NO, I BROKE IT AS A CHILD.”

  “I thought Monsters could heal themselves with magic? Or is that a myth?”

  “NO, THAT’S TRUE. BUT I BROKE IT _SUPER HARD_.”

  She raised her brows, well aware he was hiding something, but given his frostiness compared to his otherwise sunny mood she chose not to pester him to satisfy her own curiosity. “Method of reproduction?”

  He leaned back in his chair, as if giving it proper, serious consideration. ”SENSUALLY? WITH... WITH CANDLES? I’M NOT SURE WHY YOU’RE ASKING ME THIS--”

  “I am not asking how you, specifically--” She took a deep breath, not wanting to laugh in his face. “Humans have the one method,” she explained, her cadence indicating that she had done so many times that day and would do so many more. “But with Monsters, the methods are, ah, variable. It’s for documentation purposes, I gotta log it. I know it’s invasive, sorry. Do you reproduce sexually, asexually, do you release... Skeleton spores?”

  Oh, of course. Monsters must have seem a little odd in that regard, he realized. He mumbled something, letting his feet scrape against the grass underneath him bashfully.

  “Speak up, please.”

  “SEXUALLY.”

  She shot a subconscious glance to his groin, looking exceptionally confused, and he crossed his legs in a fit of self-consciousness.

  “How on Earth--?”

  “WHATEVER YOU THINK HAPPENS? IS PROBABLY RIGHT. AND THAT’S ALL I HAVE TO SAY ON THE MATTER.”

  She shook her head, confused, and Papyrus bobbed the foot that hung over his knee. “Just a few more then you can be on your way. Any medical conditions?”

  “DOES EATING TOO MUCH SPAGHETTI GIVE YOU ANY KIND OF MEDICAL CONDITION?”

  “I... Don’t think it does?”

  “THEN APART FROM MY ARM, NO.”

  “Plans for accommodation?”

  “A HOUSE. A NICE ONE, WITH A GARDEN, AND VERY SMALL BIRDS THAT SCREAM WHEN THE SUN IS OUT FOR SOME REASON.”

  She smiled, and it was more than a little patronizing, but Papyrus would have taken that over cold indifference any day. “How will you get that? What currency did you have in the mountain?”

  “WE CAN JUST BUY ONE! I HAVE SOME SAVINGS, AND MY BROTHER HAS A LITTLE NEST EGG. TELL ME, IS GOLD WORTH ANYTHING UP HERE? IT’S SO COMMON IN THE MOUNTAIN THAT WE THROW IT AROUND WILLY-NILLY!”

 

* * *

 

  Papyrus did get his lovely house, with his lovely garden, which would not bloom as it was the middle of winter, but even then he could not have been happier. Sans had wanted to move into an apartment, but Papyrus had encouraged him to splurge a little, as the spare rooms would be useful. Sans deserved nice things, even if he had a tendency to be frugal.

  “SANS! SANS, WE HAVE A HOUSE!”

  “we’ve had a house.”

  “BUT WE HAVE ONE OUTSIDE! IN THE AIR! WITH TREES! AND PLANTS THAT I CANNOT PRONOUNCE, GOOD GOD, IT’S LIKE A MIRACLE!”

  Sans smiled, deeply, sincerely. “i know, pap. it’s pretty great, right?”

  Papyrus huffed delightedly in return, returning to his newspaper, taking the time to look around and let out a giddy noise of glee, having unpacked his things. Sans leaned back and drank his coffee, watching the rain out of the kitchen window. He had never seen the rain before, only its remnants, the small reservoirs that would settle in the cracks in the mountain, break, and dump moisture upon the poor Monster walking underneath. Those were not as deeply satisfying to watch, and though it relaxed him, they were stark reminders of his situation at the time, highlighting that it was always raining somewhere else. It was raining in front of him, now. It was sodden, and grey, and pretty, petrichor settling in his nasal bone.

  “OH, OH, I FOUND THE ARTICLE, I FOUND THE ARTICLE!”

  “what paper, again?”

  Papyrus showed him the front page, ‘MONSTERS ARE REAL!’ printed across its front in huge, red letters. Sans sat his coffee down on a box filled with things still to unpack from the move, and leaned over, grin widening. “yeah, yeah, that’s it, that’s the paper that interviewed me. only got a couple of words, this was just after i was processed.”

  “AH, WHEN YOU FEINTED, FELL INTO MY ARMS, OVERWHELMED WITH THE MAJESTY OF THE SURFACE!”

  “i passed out after going for hours without sleep, but sure, lets go with that, ya big drama queen,” he poked.

  “I HAVE A FLAIR, SANS. DON’T DENY ME MY GIFT.”

  Sans laughed, chugging the last of his coffee. “wouldn’t dream of it.” He leaned back, and waited for Papyrus to find his quote.

  “GOSH, YOU WERE IN THE NEWS! IS THIS IT? ARE YOU... A CELEBRITY?”

  “gah, i hope not, i already get enough looks as is.”

  Papyrus folded the paper flat in front of so as to take in as much information as possible, and scanned the pages for Sans’ name. Was this the right newspaper?

  “... I DON’T SEE YOU IN THE ARTICLE!”

  “oh, i’m in there,” Sans responded, voice high with whimsy and anticipation, already straining against his suppressed laughter. “thought i’d jazz up my name, though.”

  Papyrus’ face fell, just a little. “... WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ‘JAZZ UP’?”

  “you’ll notice. trust me.”

  Papyrus did notice, spotting the telltale term ‘skeleton’, and let out a low sigh of disbelief that built upon itself to become a yelp of indignation. “OH MY GOD? OH MY GOD.”

  Tears were running down Sans’ face, and it was only his self control that stopped him from breaking down into hysterics there and then. “i see you’ve found my part.”

  “YOU TOLD THEM YOUR NAME WAS ‘DICK NUTTING’! _‘DICK NUTTING’!_ ARE YOU TWELVE?”

  “the idea just _came_ upon me.”

  Papyrus thudded his face against the polished wood of the kitchen table, aware of the fact that all of his friends would know about this and tease him over it. His voice was muffled. “SANS! OH MY GOD, UGH! I WILL GIVE YOU EVERY PAYCHECK I’LL EVER EARN AS LONG AS YOU PROMISE ME YOU’LL NEVER MAKE ANOTHER GROSS, GROSS PUN.”

  Sans finally cracked. “i dunno, i can think up another one _jizz-t_ in time.”

  “ _YOU’RE STILL MAKING TERRIBLE WORDS HAPPEN AT ME!_ ”

 

* * *

  

  Papyrus was bent over, hand clad in a frilly oven-mitt, gently stirring away at the pot he was presiding over, enjoying the gentle murmur of conversation from the dining room. Sans peeped his head in.

  “hey pap, you need any help? ‘cause i think undyne is about to start cannibalizing people, and i do not want to deal with that shit today.”

  “NO, NO, I'M FINE!” He trilled. He and Sans exchanged a look, and Papyrus brought the spoon to his mouth, tasting it. The sauce was a little fatty. Citrus would help! He reached for a nearby lemon, plopped the spoon in the sink, and resumed, gliding from one task to the next with growing ease. Sans looked on, beaming.

  “can’t you just use the same spoon?”

  “TO STIR? UM, NO? IT’S UNHYGIENIC?” Papyrus turned around, his face already contorting into a grimace. “IS THAT WHAT YOU DO WHEN YOU COOK?”

  “you haven’t caught any weird diseases, so what’s the fuss?”

  “THAT IS NOT THE POINT, SANS, THIS IS BASIC FOOD HYGIENE! I CAN ASSURE YOU, I KNOW IT OFF BY HEART. I CAN’T BECOME A GREAT CHEF IF YOU MILL AROUND, TASTING AND REGURGITATING MY FOOD LIKE AN ESPECIALLY BONY CATERPILLAR!”

  “do caterpillars do that?”

  “PROBABLY NOT, THE HEAT IS PLAYING HAVOC WITH MY THINKING.”

  Sans shrugged. “like i said, you need help, just say and i’ll hop in.”

  Papyrus took the pot off of the stove, and tended to the chicken he was frying. “I APPRECIATE THE OFFER, BUT YOU’VE DONE ENOUGH, MR. EMPLOYED JOB PERSON. GO SIT DOWN, HAVE A LAZY DAY!”

  “c’mon, gettin’ handed a job on a platter is hardly somethin’ to celebrate--”

  “IT IS AND I WILL! TEACHING IS A VERY NOBLE PROFESSION! NOW GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!”

  Sans obliged, puffing against the cool air of the corridor, and walked back to the dining room, towards the raucous noise. He looked over the sight, his friends sitting in clusters, laughing and joking with one another, and he smiled. He sat by Toriel, who was fussing over Frisk’s hair.

  “I am glad you accepted,” she lilted, not turning around, aware of his presence.

  “yeah, well... it seemed like a good idea. can’t rely on pap to motivate me all the time, right? _mrs. dreemur._ ”

  She laughed, turning around, Frisk craning to look as well. “You will do that just to irritate me, now that I am a headmistress, won’t you?”

  “perks of bein’ friends with the boss.”

  “I will admit, I have no idea how to help you if the children are not... Inclined towards that field of science, shall we say. Magical studies will be entirely new to both them, and their parents.”

  “yeah, well, worst comes to the worst, i’ll just whip out the huge skull cannon. the kid’ll love that--”

  “No, Sans. You will not do that,” she responded, turning on the maternal sternness she was so adept at summoning.

  “yes, ma’am. i’m not gonna screw this one up, trust me, not if i can help it. not if i’m gonna help put pap through culinary school.”

  “I do believe,” Toriel began gently, “that he has enough money to do that on his own.”

  “oh, without a doubt. he’s payin’ for most of it, he’s been washin’ dishes on the side. but still, gotta find some reason to get up in the mornin’, right?”

  She looked to Frisk, her child, not by blood, but by bond. “I understand.”

  There was a clattering of dishes and a loud, shrill curse from the kitchen, that rang out and reverberated, leaving a silence in its wake. Sans heard the door creak open just a tad, and Papyrus peeped his head in, apron squeaking, one shoulder-band slipping off of his broken arm. “SORRY. I DROPPED A PLATE. MY BAD. EVERYTHING IS FINE.”

  “swear jar,” Sans chirped, settling into his position on the pine chair, directly across from Asgore, who required two.

  “I DIDN’T CALL YOU OUT EVERY TIME YOU SWORE!” Papyrus grumbled, his foot wedging the door open, allowing delicious smells to waft through.

  “that was your loss. swear jar.”

  “YOU DON’T EVEN CARE, YOU JUST WANT TO RILE ME UP!”

  “dude? dude. don’t get mad because you can’t control your language.”

  “Yeah,” Undyne piped up from the end of the table, having ended her conversation, “not all of us swear like motherfuckers!”

  “OH _COME ON!_ ”

  Frisk sniffed the air, eyes narrowing in thought, standing up. “Does... Does anybody else smell burning?”

  The room fell silent.

  “OH GOD, I DO!”

  Papyrus scrambled out, feet skittering and sliding against the linoleum floor, before a loud sigh reached them, relief palpable.

  “IT’S FINE!” He called back. “I HAD ONLY SET A DISHTOWEL ON FIRE, IT’S ALL FINE!”

  “How did--”

  “DINNER’S READY!”

   
  Five minutes later and it was plated up, presented splendidly, a significant step up from overcooked spaghetti and punched tomatoes. Everybody sat, staring at their plates, borderline salivating, but not daring to start without permission. Papyrus was stood at the head of the table, apron still donned, oven mitt still present.

  “SO I THOUGHT, TO CELEBRATE MY COOL BROTHER GETTING A COOL JOB, WE SHOULD ALL HAVE--”

  “A cool meal?” Frisk interrupted.

  Papyrus paused. “TRULY, WE ARE BESTIES. SPOT ON. AND I’VE PUT A LOT EFFORT INTO THIS, SO I HOPE YOU WILL LIKE IT! I MEAN, I’M SAYING THAT FOR HUMILITIES SAKE, OF COURSE YOU’RE GOING TO LIKE IT, BUT ANYWAY!”

  He clapped his hand to his breast theatrically, and Mettaton gave him an appreciative nod, showmanship appreciating showmanship. He flushed, but continued.

  “... ASPARAGUS, GRILLED IN OLIVE OIL-- YOU CAN DIG IN BY THE WAY, DON’T LET ME STOP YOU--”

  Everyone did so. It tasted amazing, seasoned and spiced and prepared in a way that could almost be considered obsessive, neurotic. Papyrus received appreciative groans in response, and that only spurred him on.

  “... A GARLIC AND HERB SAUCE FOR THE PASTA...”

  Frisk took a huge mouthful, savoring the best meal they had ever had.

  “... CHICKEN, MEDIUM RARE--”

  Frisk stopped, calmly stood up, and leaned over to talk to Sans, who was looking at them. Was it raw chicken Humans weren’t meant to eat? Or deer? One of those.

  “Sans,” they said with utmost calm, a flat surface hiding growing panic, “where is your--”

  “bathroom? down the hall, to the right. last room”

  “Does it--”

  “it has a toilet, yeah, human guests and all...”

  They walked out of the room, measured steps, then broke out into a sprint, slamming the door with a click.

  “OH... THEY DIDN'T LIKE IT?” Papyrus squeaked, defeated.

 

* * *

 

  “hey, kids. we’re gonna learn the hell out of some magic. or its theory, at least. any of your start tossin’ around magic, let me know, because let me tell you that is some crazy stuff. you will be slam dunked straight into the history books. i’m your teacher, sans.”

  A small hand, with a flat palm and stubby digits, was raised, all the way in the back of the room.

  “yeah, you. the kid with the shirt. and the hair.”

  “Mrs. Dreemurr says we’ve to call you Dr. Skeleton.”

  “eh, sans is fine.”

 

* * *

 

   “I HAD ANOTHER NIGHTMARE.”

  “fuck, really?”

  Papyrus nodded weakly, exhausted, sprawled on the couch, eyes still droopy with sleep, a feeling he was still unaccustomed to. Sans was sat at his feet, as they used to do in Snowdin. It was hard to believe it had been four months since they had first seen that blue sky, that had never dulled in its novelty.

  “what about?”

  Papyrus glanced to him, as if to reinforce the obvious. “ABOUT FRISK. THE DAY I-- THE DAY THINGS WENT WRONG. I CAN STILL FEEL IT IN MY HANDS, SOMETIMES. IT’S WHY I HAVEN’T MADE SPAGHETTI BOLOGNESE SINCE WE CAME UP HERE, THE SMELL, THE FEEL OF THE RAW MEAT, I CAN’T-- I CAN’T HANDLE IT. IT MAKES ME FEEL ILL, LIKE I’M GOING TO PASS OUT.”

  Sans gasped softly, an ‘oh’ on the intake. “i thought you just got sick of it, i didn’t--”

  Papyrus cast his gaze out of the window, to his garden, to the flowers that were so close to blooming, little buds that would soon sprout, but not yet, illuminated by moonlight filtered through honey-thick clouds.

  Sans gave him a pat on the shoulder, a grounding touch. “frisk _forgave_ you, dude. it can’t get any better than that, they understood it wasn’t your fault, and they forgave you--”

  “THAT IS NOT THE POINT.”

  “then... what is? why’re you still beatin’ yourself up over this?”

  Papyrus slouched, tapping his fingers against one another. “I DON’T KNOW. I UNDERSTAND, OBJECTIVELY, THAT IT WAS NOT MY FAULT. AND YET, I STILL FEEL GUILTY. IT’S LIKE A SINKING, GNAWING FEELING, AND I CANNOT SEEM TO SHIFT IT. I DOUBT I EVER, EVER WILL.”

  Sans kept quiet, allowing his brother to speak.

  “IT WAS ALL I HAD. NO MATTER HOW BAD THINGS HAD GOTTEN, HOW BAD I HAD GOTTEN, I HAD NEVER KILLED, AND I NEVER WOULD KILL. BUT, SOMEHOW, IN SOME WAY, IF THINGS WERE TO SPIRAL OUT OF MY CONTROL ONCE AGAIN... WHAT WOULD I HAVE LEFT?”

  “you’d have me.”

  “I KNOW THAT! I--” Papyrus placed his hand on Sans’ in turn, lowering his voice. “I AM SORRY, I’M NOT SURE WHAT POINT I’M TRYING TO MAKE. IT’S JUST, I FEEL... DIFFERENT, I SUPPOSE. BUT IN A WAY I CAN’T PIN DOWN, WHICH MAKES IT ALL THE MORE UNSETTLING.”

  “change... change ain’t necessarily a bad thing.”

  “BUT I MISS WHO I WAS. EVEN THIS CONVERSATION...” He laughed darkly. “IT’S A LITTLE CYNICAL OF ME, ISN’T IT? IT REMINDS ME OF THE PEP TALKS I USED TO GIVE YOU. I DIDN’T THINK I COULD BE CYNICAL.”

  “you aren’t like him, y’know.”

  Papyrus looked up, blinking, quaking a little.

  “i know that’s what you’re thinkin’ about.”

  “... ARE YOU SURE?”

  “i am.”

  “... THANK YOU. IT WAS A LITTLE NAIVE OF ME TO THINK I COULD LEAVE MY PROBLEMS IN THE MOUNTAIN, WASN’T IT?”

  Sans gave him another hefty pat of the shoulder, fending off his fatigue. “well... think of it this way. we’re sittin’ here, talking about it. nobody is trapped in a time loop, nobody is drinkin’ themselves to death, nobody is throwin’ themselves in rivers, nobody is gettin’ involved in time-space shenanigans. we’re sittin’ here. talkin’. like healthy adults. who cares if we’ve got more baggage than an airport, we’re dealin’ with it, right?”

  Papyrus smiled, weakly, but sincerely, eyes misting up. He pulled Sans into a long, firm hug, before breaking it, the warmth keeping him stable, soft, sweet, sane. “YOU MAKE A COMPELLING POINT.”

  “look, i was hidin’ a tub of ice cream in the freezer for myself, you wanna split it and watch movies? you can pick first--”

  “PRIDE AND PREJUDICE.”

  “ugh, i don’t understand how you can keep watching those movies, they’re all the same. it’s people paradin’ around in frilly costumes, eye-fuckin’ each other but not doin’ anything until this one dude comes floppin’ out of the lake like a sexually charged fuck-fish.”

  “TRULY,” Papyrus nodded sagely, voice dripping in sarcasm, “A SUMMARY OF THE GREATEST ROMANCE OF OUR TIME.”

  There was a pause, both of them feeling better, weighed down with past events but not truly shackled.

  “... SENSE AND SENSIBILITY?”

  “oh, goddamit.”

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if the French is off, I googled some things, so please correct it if it is! ^-^


End file.
